Like No Other
by Moon Raven2
Summary: In this sequel to "Isn't It Wonderful?" Hotch ponders his strange experience and his growing feelings for Prentiss.
1. From the Mouths of Babes

**Like No Other**

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**a/n:** Um, right. What happened here? I have no idea. I was going to write a quick one-shot based on a prompt from the LJ group Criminal [Minds] Prompts, and next thing you know I'm writing a multi-chapter sequel to "Isn't It Wonderful?" Am I on drugs? No. Maybe they would help.

Anyway. Sequel to "Isn't It Wonderful," and if you haven't read that you're going to be very, very confused. It isn't 100% necessary, but you've been warned. :)

Oh, the prompt was "Close your eyes." It'll be more prominent in the next chapter, but it's here, too.

I love feedback! Toss me a review if you stopped by. :)

**Disclaimer:** Criminal Minds and the characters pertaining thereto do not belong to me. Thanks to Jeff Davis et al. for creating them and letting me play. :D

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**Chapter 1: From the Mouths of Babes...**

**How I wish you could see the potential,  
The potential of you and me.  
It's like a book elegantly bound,  
But in a language that you can't read…  
Just yet.  
**-Death Cab for Cutie, "I Will Possess Your Heart"

Time plays funny tricks on a man's mind. It had been six months since Aaron Hotchner had met the strange, ageless man who called himself Clarence. It had been six months since he'd had a glimpse of what his life would be like if he'd never lived it (as confusing and odd as that sounds…). Six months since he'd been touched soul-deep by an experience he still couldn't begin to understand.

Six months. In the days and weeks since the moment he'd sat on his living room sofa and contemplated eating his gun, he hadn't again reached that level of despair. Was it because of Clarence? Because of the things he'd seen in that…other…reality? Garcia thin and wasted and paranoid; his beloved BAU banished to the bowels of Quantico; Reid and Gideon dead; Morgan wrongly imprisoned…

The things he had learned and the memory of Clarence's fathomless eyes still echoed through him like the sound of mighty wings stirring a phantom wind, and they affected him every day. He held Jack a few heartbeats longer than he normally might. He worried after his team like a mother hen. He savored every sunset; relished every breath. He knew it all was temporary. Fleeting. Ephemeral.

Clarence had taught him that much, if nothing else.

Back to his original point, though: time plays funny tricks on a man's mind. It had been six months, and sometimes the memories were as crystal clear as though it had all happened yesterday, and other times…other times it seemed as though it had all happened to someone else, and he'd merely found himself fascinated by an interesting, puzzling tale he'd heard over too many beers late one night.

With a long sigh he splashed some cold water over his face and dabbed it dry with a towel. They were in Maine on a case, and the weather outside was miserable. Temporarily stranded at the hotel; Hotch felt like they were all trapped in a Stephen King novel. He was staying in room 217, even. ("The Overlook was in Colorado, not Maine," Prentiss had reminded him drolly. "Hardly the point, Prentiss," he'd shot back with a brief roll of his eyes and an even briefer quirk of his lips.)

Regardless. He'd learned from his time down the rabbit hole (as he often found himself referring to that strange, life-altering day) that everything happens for a reason. If they were trapped here for the night, it was because they were _meant_ to be here. Though the rest of the team was restless, Hotch found himself feeling strangely serene and Zen-like about the whole thing – despite his ominous room number.

Remembering the brief exchange with Emily brought a smile to his normally pensive face. He'd been doing that more recently, too – much to astonishment of his team – and while Haley's death sometimes still felt like a raw wound, fresh and newly-abraded, most of the time the ache of it was soft and poignant, like a melody played just out of earshot. He would never stop missing the woman he had loved for so long, but she still lived in Jack's bright smile, his endless curiosity, and his unadulterated joy for life.

Speaking of…Hotch checked the time and grinned again; it was time to call Jack. He dialed the number, and was delighted when his son answered. "_Daddy! Guess what? Aunt Jessica made us 'sghetti for dinner!_"

"Spaghetti? Wow, buddy, that's great. How was school today?" His son always started conversations that way: he liked to lead with the highlights, and leave such mundane things as "hello" for amateurs.

"_Super awesome. I made a really big tower with blocks, but then Billy came over and smashed it, but Miss Jodi made him 'pologize. He did, and we rebuilt it together, which was better anyway, and then Josh brought a frog to show and tell, which was really cool…_"

Hotch leaned back against the bed's headboard and closed his eyes as he listened to his son's joyful chatter. He made appropriate exclamations of surprise and approval as the story progressed, shared the boy's horror at the idea of Brussels sprouts, and otherwise let the cares of his day get washed away by Jack's perfect, innocent beauty.

"_Daddy?_" he said after a few minutes' monologue.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"_Tell Miss Em'ly I said hi, ok? Tell her I miss her._"

Hotch blinked in surprise. "Sure, buddy; of course I'll tell her."

"_She draws great pictures. Hey, Daddy?_"

"What's up?"

"_Maybe Miss Em'ly could be your girlfriend. I don't think Mommy would mind._"

"I, um…" Hotch cleared his throat around the sudden thickness that clogged it. "You don't think she would?" he finally managed.

"_No, I think she'd be happy. I thought about it a lot._"

He found himself unsure what to say, but after a moment he realized he was nodding inanely. Frowning at himself, he cast about for the right words. "Thanks for thinking about me, buddy. I'll, um, I'll consider it, ok?"

"_Ok. I miss you, Daddy. Come home soon._"

"You know I will, Jack. I love you."

"_Love you, too. Night!_"

Hotch bid his son goodnight and sweet dreams before hanging up. His face was set in deep, pensive lines as he considered what Jack had just said. What his new life philosophy had been since the rabbit hole. Emily was his colleague; the Bureau regulations against inter-office romance existed for a reason.

He remembered with startling clarity his thoughts as he sat on that dirty street and looked up at Emily Prentiss the stranger. He remembered the way his heart had ached at the thought of living in a world where he couldn't know her. Recalled in the here and now her smile, her laugh (the most contagious sound he'd ever heard), her warm midnight eyes.

They'd been spending a lot of time together outside of work since that first dinner six months ago. She'd become a bit of a fixture in his life and Jack's. She hadn't exaggerated her take out ordering skills, but she'd certainly underplayed her cooking abilities. Despite her protests to the contrary, she was a great cook…much to Jack's delight, since his seemingly invincible father was easily defeated by such run-of-the-mill chores as boiling water.

Hotch's smile was closer to a grimace as he reflected on his life the past six months. What would it have been like without Emily? And what was the point of everything he'd learned down the rabbit hole if he didn't take his son's innocent advice and let her know how much she'd meant to him?

Time does funny things to a man's mind, but, Hotch reflected almost ruefully, it does even stranger things to his heart.

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_Hopefully you won't have to wait long for part 2. And hopefully 2 chapters is all it'll take, because "History" is my writing priority atm!!_

_My muse loves reviews; they help her help me. So if you like this, and want to read more soon, please review me. :)  
_


	2. Close Your Eyes

**a/n:** Thank you to my reviewers for the last chapter! It's always much appreciated. :)

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**Chapter 2: Close Your Eyes**

**People call us renegades because we like livin' crazy.  
We like takin' on this town  
'Cause people's gettin' lazy.  
I don't care what nobody says, no;  
I'm gonna be her lover.  
Always mad and usually drunk,  
But I love her like no other.  
**-Kings of Leon, "Knocked Up"

Emily Prentiss stared out her hotel room window and watched the snow dance. It was beautiful, but frustrating, and she'd rather be on the way home than stuck here. The case had been fairly easy, as BAU cases went, and the team had been ready for a long, relaxing weekend back in Virginia…until they were thwarted by Mother Nature. She remembered Hotch's Stephen King references, and did a quick sweep of the grounds framed by her window for topiaries.

All clear. She relaxed a fraction.

Her mouth curved in a self-deprecating little smile and she took another sip of mini bar vodka.

Maine wasn't bad, all things considered. It was cold, true, but the landscape was gorgeous, and the people were friendly. It wasn't home, though, and that's where she wanted to be – her own apartment, her own vodka, her own view. Or maybe…Hotch's apartment…with Hotch's view…or, more precisely, _her_ view of _Hotch_.

She'd been there a lot in the past six months, and she wasn't entirely sure what it all meant. There hadn't been anything romantic (much to Emily's chagrin), but she felt like he wouldn't be completely opposed to the idea. As if that were a recommendation, she thought wryly. No, everything had been very _proper_, and frankly she was finding the whole situation a bit frustrating. It had been six months; six long months of watching a man she'd always cared about pull himself back from the brink and become someone altogether new; and she found that this new Aaron Hotchner was even more intriguing than the old one had been.

Sighing, she set aside the half-finished drink and picked up her book – _Mother Night_, her favorite Vonnegut, and one she'd read roughly fifty times. It was a comfort book, something she always carried in her go bag no matter what else she might be reading (she wondered, briefly, what it might say about her that her chosen comfort book was the confessions of a Nazi war criminal…). She settled into the cozy hotel bed, flipped the thin volume open at random, and was soon lost in the familiar rhythms of the story.

She must've dozed off, because next thing she knew she was jerking awake to the sound of a pounding on her hotel room door. Sighing, frowning, she rose from the bed and hurried to answer. Stopped for a moment to check herself in the mirror; was glad she did, so that she could wipe the drool off her chin and run a hand through her hair. She opened the door and blinked in surprise.

"Prentiss," he said before she could even open her mouth, "er, Emily…I know it's late. Did I wake you? Sorry. I was just…" He trailed off; realized he was rambling.

She'd never heard careful, articulate Aaron Hotchner quite so…discomfited. She smiled a little, trying to put him at ease. "No, I was reading. Come in?" she invited, stepping back from the doorway.

If anything that seemed to make him even more nervous, though surely he hadn't come to say whatever he wanted to say while standing in the hall. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped into the room and she closed the door behind him.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked with a gesture toward the mini bar. "I figure the FBI can spot me some over priced vodka every now and then," she explained, grinning.

He swallowed; returned her smile with a shaky one of his own. "Sure, a drink might be good." He watched her add ice cubes to a glass, then splash in some Scotch (she knew his drink, of course) with her usual graceful, economical movements, and he wondered why the hell he'd come. It had seemed logical from the safety of his own room. Maybe not _logical_, exactly, but…it had made sense. Now he felt foolish, and he wished he'd just forgotten the whole thing and gone to sleep.

She handed him the glass with a smile; took a sip of her own old, much watered-down drink. "So. What brings you to my room in the wee hours? Business or mischief?"

He nearly choked, and the situation wasn't improved when he looked up and into her dark, sparkling eyes.

She grinned. "I don't know why you're so surprised. _You_ came _here_, not vice versa. It's late; the case is solved; we're all stranded here. What am I supposed to think?" She blinked innocently at him over the rim of her glass as she took another pull.

He sat his glass aside with every intention of returning to sanity. "Ah, Prentiss, listen," he began with a frown.

She dropped her own drink onto the vanity with a solid clang. "No, Aaron, _you_ listen." She took a step toward him; watched him watch her with a guarded, wary look. "We've been spending a lot of time together these past several months, and I thought we were growing close. I don't mean work-close, because we've always been work-close. I mean…friends-close, or maybe more-than-friends-close. I haven't pushed it, or you, because I know it's been a pretty delicate time." She stopped to draw a breath.

"But now I open my door in the middle of the night and there you are, looking all weird and scared and strangely _guilty_, but when I make the suggestion that you might be here for less-than-innocent reasons, you go all _weird_. I'm tired of things being _weird_." She moved closer still, and to his credit he didn't fall back. "I know you've been through a hard time, and I'm trying to be sensitive, but I'm tired of being sensitive. I'm tired of _you_ being so damn careful. Maybe it's time you just closed your eyes and…jumped."

He stared at her in adorable consternation, and part of her wanted to laugh. Another part was wondering how he'd react if she ran to hide in the bathroom. Or closet. Anything to get away from those piercing moss-green eyes, however befuddled they looked at the moment.

"You think I'm a ditherer?" he finally managed.

She huffed out a little chuckle. "About this? Yes."

He'd never been called a ditherer in his life. Decisiveness, thou name is Aaron Hotchner. Or so he'd always thought. Now as he watched the expressive face of Emily Prentiss, colleague and friend, he realized she was right. He was bungling Clarence's life lesson like a fool. Shaking his head, he reached for her. She was surprised, shocked almost, but instinct let her fall against him like coming home. Their eyes met; locked; his eyes closed a fraction of a second before his mouth found hers.

She thought she heard him mutter, as the kiss broke and before the next one began, the words "chocolate cake," but surely she was mistaken.

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_Those of you who've read "Your Turn" know my issue with topiaries._

_I had intended for this to be a one-shot, so instead it's two chapters. It all happens rather quickly, but remember it's been six months (not to mention the years before) building to this moment. So, in reality, it's all been kinda slow._

_Review me, please! It'll make us both happy. :)  
_


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